What'll You Have? How About Hell's Special?
by infiniteworld8
Summary: Early Season seven. Sam's struggling to keep just how frequent his hallucinations of Lucifer are. After all Dean has enough to worry about with Cas dead, his little brother half-crazy and Leviathans intent on taking on the world. They've stopped at a diner, Sam and Dean aren't the only one's present for the meal, Lucifer tags along too.


"You okay, you haven't touched your food?"

Sam made the mistake of glancing at his food again as he turned to answer Dean and nearly gagged. Luckily he didn't or his brother would have noticed something was wrong, but as it was he still managed to maintain his semblance of normality. Or as much normality as a person who was seeing Lucifer daily and remembering their time in hell could.

"Yeah, I'm fine Dean." Sam forced himself to smile slightly and took a forkful of the food on his plate, he tried to take the smallest bite possible and not look at it as the fork neared his mouth, but that was hard when he had someone narrating his every move and describing what he was eating in full gruesome detail.

_"__Those are grade-A entrails, trust me I plucked them out the little girl myself, and the sauce, well you can't get any better baby blood is sweeter and richer than hand-picked tomatoes from Tuscany…"_

_Not real, not real, not real. _Sam dug is fingernails into his palm and Lucifer unending explanation of his culinary skills ceased. Sam knew it wouldn't be long before he broke and reacted like Lucifer wanted him to but maybe at least he could get through this meal. He raised his fork to his mouth and risked glancing down. He was simultaneously dismayed and disgusted to see that although Lucifer was gone the plateful of food had remained the same. Glistening coils of innards were draped over his fork, along with wriggling worms; he could smell the copper from the blood on what should have been pasta.

His hand shook and the fork fell from his grasp. Sam saw Dean watching him. He had placed his own burger down and was staring at him in that way that said he didn't quite believe Sam was entirely with him in that moment.

He leaned in closer, so the other patrons in the dinner couldn't hear. "Is it Lucifer? Because Sam, I told you. Stone one—he isn't here, he can't be hear, he's not real."

"I-I l know, he's not here." _Not right now at least_ Sam couldn't help adding in his head

Dean looked like he didn't believe him.

Sam continued. "I'm just not that hungry." That was true, apparently messing up his sleep wasn't enough, now Lucifer had turned every meal into hell's specials. It really took away one's appetite to be eating maggots and rotting flesh and all the other delicacies he had experienced while down in the cage.

"Dude, you've got to eat something. You're starting to give those skinny chicks on _Project runaway_ a run for their money." Dean continued obviously trying to pull a laugh from Sam. "And while you may have the height of one of those models, you're missing the needed equipment if you get my drift." And how could Sam not get his drift when he was gesturing obscenely to his chest and grinning lewdly?

Sam shook his head, but gave an empty chuckle. He really didn't find anything funny. He was running on fumes, both physically and mentally, but Dean already had enough on his mind, what with trying to stop the Leviathans from taking over the world. So instead of telling Dean what was really preventing him from eating he picked up his fork and took a bite of his pasta-not pasta. Dean went back to eating.

Sam glanced at his brother's food wondering if he could steal some from Dean and maybe that would be more edible. A quick glanced showed the burger and fries Dean was attacking with was worse than his own meal, because the fries he could clearly see were nothing more than fingers battered and fried until they were golden. And the extra-rare burger had chunks of flesh sticking out with human hair still attached. He could smell the cooked skin from across the table. His hand shook and thankfully Dean didn't notice as Sam raised the glass of what should have been tea. He spat out the mouthful he had drank, earning a look from Dean. But he couldn't talk because Lucifer was back…

_Bile has such a tangy taste? Need a little more spinal fluid added to the cocktail it sweetens it nicely Sammy _

Sam bit the inside of his cheek and forced his thumb into the scar on his palm. The sharp pain that accompanied the actions was welcome as Lucifer flashed a taunting finger in his face ,then flickered and disappeared.

The taste of bile and blood lingered in his mouth. He stomach was already revolting, and he eyed the bathroom sign a few booths down. Dean was watching him closely and if he left now he knew his brother would follow him. He had already stopped by the restroom when they had come in, after being unable to keep lunch down due to enduring silently a two-hour car ride in which Lucifer had stabbed him over and over. To leave again so soon, would clue Dean in that something was wrong.

He picked up his fork and took another bite. The taste of the entrails was sickening, the blood coated his mouth foully and his teeth squished down on something he was sure had been an eyeball.

He swallowed with difficulty, all his body wanted to do was bring it back… With hands he had to force not to tremble he scooped another forkful, this one he tried to chew as fast as possible. That made it a little better, but then he could still feel the stomach-turning slipperiness of the intestines as they slid down his throat.

He glanced across at Dean and was surprised to see his brother still not even half-way through his own food. Then he realized he was taking longer on purpose, obviously trying to give Sam enough time to eat a reasonable amount. Sam lost it right then and there, didn't Dean see every bite was torture. But no he didn't, it was obvious by the way he took another smaller than normal bit of a fry and watched Sam out the corner of his eye.

Lucifer was back again now and as Sam forced himself to eat the gory narration accompanied every bite.

A pattern grew with each moment more sickening than the first.

Pick up fork, twist the smallest loop of entrails possible onto the fork, try to avoid the eyeballs littering the plate, let as much blood drip off as possible and then raise it to him mouth. Chew as fast as he could ,swallow , wash down said bite with a glass of what was supposed to be tea but tasted like bile, and then repeat.

His eyes were watering, his stomach was roiling. Sweat dripped into his eyes and his hands had a fine tremor. He was sure Dean had noticed , but he didn't speak, until several minutes later. The words were quiet, it was obvious he recognized something was wrong, but didn't know what.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam looked up, the forkful of food he had frozen half-way to his mouth. Dean was staring across at him, with serious worried eyes, but his words were had a joking tone that sounded so fake. "Is that really that good?"

_What?_ The unsaid question lingered for a moment as Sam looked confusedly at his brother then he happened to glance down and noticed that he had eaten most of the plate. The thought of all those entrails and blood floating inside of him, made him gag, he covered it with a cough. Dean's eyes narrowed and he was sure his retch-turned to cough hadn't been very convincing.

Sam opened his mouth to lie, and Dean sighed, now looking so tired. He tossed him a napkin, "Here…clean yourself up, you look like it's the first time you ever had spaghetti." The words were light but once again the smile that accompanied them didn't quite reach Dean's eyes.

Sam wiped his mouth with the napkin and then noticed that his clothes had sauce spilled down the front and pieces of his meal were laying around his plate. He had been so focused on forcing himself to eat that he hadn't noticed how much food he was dropping. A faint blush graced his face, but he bit off the embarrassment as Dean called for the bill. He should have been used to the embarrassment that seemed to accompany him now. After all how easy was it to maintain any sense of dignity when you could be standing in a checkout line full of people and then start screaming because the devil had decided that was the perfect time to set you on fire—or run from something that you thought was a monster intent on pulling you apart to find it was some kid dressed in a costume. Embarrassment and Lucifer went hand in hand.

()()()

Dean waited for the already overworked waitress to make her way back to the table and silently watched Sam ineffectually wipe the sauce stain from the front of his clothes. He recognized the mechanical eating for what it was now, it was following orders. Most likely Lucifer's, Dean remembered the relationship food and hell had very well. It was just another form of torture, what else could the taste of your own entrails be. He had just been happy to have Sam eating something; it had been days now that all he had eaten was the occasional protein shake. The meals at fast-food joints s or diners didn't count because Dean knew the bathroom pit stops afterwards had ended with all that food in the toilet. Now Dean wished he had at least called Sam out on it instead of letting him sit there and eat only because Lucifer was threatening him with some god-awful punishment if he didn't.

Nothing took away an appetite faster like being told that if you didn't eat than you were going to be gutted—again—and fed your own entrails. The waitress came, she was a little younger than him, with bouncy brunette hair and a smile that said she was willing to serve up a lot more than greasy diner burgers, but Dean could only half-heartedly flirt with her. Instead he was watching Sam grow increasingly uncomfortable in the seat across from him and feeling guilty about the whole thing.

The brunette trailed regretfully away and Dean shrugged his jacket on a nodded to Sam. "Let's go."

He hoped his brother would come along, instead Sam stood somewhat shakily his skin bleach white. "I'm going to stop by the bathroom first."

Dean shrugged casually. "Good idea I might as well too, it'll save a pit stop later." But the real reason was he wanted to make sure his brother kept the first meal he had eaten in days actually inside his body for longer than a few minutes. He knew Sam would do his best to hold it together as long as he was around because he wouldn't want to admit what was going on in his head.

Dean may have felt guilty now that he realized the reason Sam was eating but that didn't mean he wasn't going to make him digest every bite.

()()()

He slammed the car door shut and barely paid any attention as Dean slid into the other side and started up the car. The Impala pulled out into the slick road into the increasing storm and the movement did nothing for Sam's already roiling stomach contents. He leaned his head back in the seat, he felt cold all over and Lucifer's voice was still in his ears. Thankfully he had decided apparently to forgo the torture for a while, for which Sam was grateful because his body was already providing enough of it's own.

He swallowed the saliva filling his mouth, and tried to ignore the feeling that something was fighting to get out his abdomen. The thought of what he had eaten at the dinner only served to aggravate it more. He could taste the partially digested blood and intestines in the back of his throat.

Cramps racked his stomach and he wanted to pull his legs up off the seat and curl up, but Dean would have known something was wrong then. He knew he would have felt better if he had just gotten rid of the offending meal back at the diner, but Dean's intrusion had prevented him from throwing up like he had needed to.

He bit off a moan as his stomach twisted again. He retched slightly and more acid filled his mouth. With a sharp gulp he swallowed back the sickening taste and took deep breaths. He snaked a hand under his shirt to massage his stomach, but the cold contact of his skin on his abdomen only made him feel worse. He shivered and reached toward the heat knob.

Dean apparently thought he was going for a different control and slapped his hand away. "How many times do I have to tell you that driver picks the music, shotgun—" The familiar refrain was lost as Sam lost focus and instead reacted to the lurching sensation as the impala hit a pothole.

Dean's subsequent swearing was silent compared to the roaring of Sam's innards. It felt like a riot was being waged in his gut. The car seemed to be going increasingly cold, he was shivering and in so much discomfort that the next few miles seemed to pass at a snail's pace.

He glanced toward Dean, "Can we stop at a gas station or something?"

Dean turned to him smirking. "You need a piss break this soon? Really?, it's been like what—about a half an hour dude."

Sam didn't answer his face would have colored slightly but embarrassment was the furthest thing from his mind. His mind was centered on his stomach and that alone.

Dean glanced over at him again and seemed to notice his discomfort. "You okay? You look like you're gonna puke and that's the first solid meal you've had in a while, you keep acting like a teenage anorexic you're going to really have me worried man."

The answer he would have said in all honesty died on his lips, he didn't want to disappoint Dean. He didn't want to worry him. He swallowed back the bile creeping up his throat and murmured. "Just my stomach's a little upset—maybe some soda?"

"Sure."

To Sam's dismay, instead of going in the next gas station Dean stopped at the vending machine outside and grabbed a can of ginger ale, the whole time keeping an eye on Sam who was slumped back against the impala's seats.

The car started up again and Sam opened the can with trembling hands. The first sip was soothing but the next tasted like acid and burned the whole way down.

_Just like battery acid should…_

He tried to ignore the voice as he sat the almost full can in the cup holder. Dean kept his eyes on the road but murmured "Better?"

Sam nodded, but in reality he felt a whole lot worse. His mouth was swimming in saliva and he couldn't seemed to swallow it fast enough. It was only a matter of time, holding in the urge to be sick was like trying not to sneeze, pretty much impossible and the harder you tried the worst it was.

In the end , one wild turn did it. The impala's tires slipped on the wet road and Sam's insides sloshed around and then a stomachful of dinner came up. He gave a groan and clamped his hand on his mouth just in time.

The second heave turned to a moan and Sam could feel pieces of half chewed meat beginning to spill through his fingers.

"Sh—" Dean had the car stopped and was around the car to the other door faster than Castiel could have flew. He was just in time because as Dean reached for his younger brother his hands couldn't hold the next mouthful and a tsunami of half-digested food came flowing out onto the grass and twigs at the side of the road. Sam fell to his knees as another round came. Rain was dripping down and his hair was hanging into his face, he retched again and felt Dean reach for the strands then curse as he wasn't fast enough to stop chunks of meatballs from decorating the brown mop.

"Damn it Sam , you should have told me you were this sick.." The rest of Dean's words was lost as Sam heaved again.

His nose was blocked. His eyes were tearing and burning and his throat was sore and still it kept coming. Dean was at his back patting it and holding his now-disgusting hair back and Lucifer was standing at one side leering.

_Now, Now Sam, you know that's not allowed, what was the lesson: Every time you throw it up, I'll feed you more, you know you really started to like it by the end…_

"Sh-sh-shut up!" Sam managed to gasp out the words before he heaved again. Dean fell silent but Sam couldn't stop heaving to tell him who he was actually talking to. So his brothers annoying and yet soothing dialogue ceased and all that was left was the sound of rain and his own violent retching. His abdomen ached harshly and strings of saliva and bile were hanging from his mouth when he finally managed to stop.

Lucifer disappeared as Sam dug his fingers hard enough into his hand for it to bleed. Sam sat up shaking water out his eyes and Dean's worried face loomed over him. "You okay now?"

Sam nodded wearily. His voice was hoarse. "yeah."

Dean pulled him to his feet and settled him on the impala's passenger seat with half his body in and the other half out the car. Then he went to grab a bottle. Sam let Dean pour the water over his hands cleaning off the dirt and vomit. It reminded him of when they had been little. Satisfied that Sam's hands were clean Dean pulled out a rag and dampened it before giving Sam's hair a cleaning.

Dean poured the rest of the water over his own hands and then dropped the bottle and the rag at side of the road on top of the mess being slowly washed away.

Instead of getting back in the car Dean asked. "What was this all about?"

Sam thought about lying but Dean cut him off. "It was Lucifer wasn't it?"

A miserable nod confirmed Dean's words. Dean guessed what was wrong and continued quietly , "Back at the diner what did it look like you were eating? "

Sam's voice was quiet. "Entrails, eyeballs—b-blood…" He nearly gagged again at the thought.

"Then why didn't you tell me Sam? If it was that bad I wouldn't have made you eat it."

Sam snorted even though now his eyes were burning. "T-this isn't broccoli Dean, I'm not three. You didn't make me eat it…not exactly."

"What do you mean not exactly."

Sam glanced away and stared at his shoes as he answered. "I didn't want to worry you."

Dean paused and Sam looked up at him a curious expression was on his face, one he had rarely seen since before the whole mess with leviathans and angels-demons and the apocalypse. "You did this for me, you ate that nasty sh—so I wouldn't be worried?"

Sam nodded, feeling stupid as he felt tears running down his face.

"Well , Sammy skip hell's special if it's at another restaurant, you sure as hell don't have to eat that crap so I won't be worried. Because this random puking –your-guts-up-on- the-side of the road worries me a lot more."

Sam laughed, even though it was half-choked by how raw his throat felt. "Yeah, okay."

Dean pulled him closer into a one armed hug. His next words were even quieter. "And Sam don't hide stuff from me…I'd rather be worried…because at least I know what going on in that thick Sasquatch head of yours. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

Sam nodded even though his head was trapped by Dean's arm.

Dean released him after another couple of seconds and they each settled back into the car. Dean started up the engine and pulled onto the road. After a few minutes, he turned to Sam intermittently glancing at him and back at the road.

"Hey Sam?"

Sam turned fatigued eyes toward him.

"Next time you got to hurl, tell me. Your flying chunks of spaghetti have the potential to be one hell of a cleaning bill for baby, and she doesn't take kindly to being used as a barf bag."

Sam stared at Dean. Dean continued . "Seriously Sam, any chance of endangerment to her upholstery you're walking until the episode is past."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

There was silence and then both of them were laughing— familiar refrain in the face of an uncertain future.

* * *

_So did I finally get the voice of the SpN characters right or am I still off? Would really love to hear your thoughts._

_This little snippet came from me thinking about all the times Sam seems to be hallucinating throughout the series but he keeps doing what he's doing and Dean doesn't notice (or at least pretends not to)._


End file.
